Sin City
by NotAContrivance
Summary: The story of Lydia and George in Vegas. He knows it well, that feeling of ruining everything good you've ever touched. He wants to draw back, knowing this, but he can't stop. Something about her compels him towards the distaster he knows this will become. He's always been a gambler. ...Because he had to earn her trust first, right?


So, this is not my usual thing, but I had a compulsion and an inability to write other things (and a sad week with no Lizzie meaning I feel like I need to compensate), and so here it is. George and Lydia in Vegas. This chapter is set after they both wound up in Vegas but before New Year's Eve, and this story is, so far, to the best of my knowledge, a two-shot. Canon will probs destroy this soon, but whatever.

I don't own the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Or Pride and Prejudice. Or George Wickham, sadly. But I hope I've done them all justice here, and I hope you enjoy it. Reviews would be great if you can find the time!

* * *

Lydia Bennet had made a wrong turn somewhere a long time ago. Probably not just in this hotel-slash-casino, not that she cared. She'd somehow wound up by the pool, as if drawn there. God, she did love swimmers, though; sneaking a peek couldn't hurt, could it? She stared through the large plate glass windows, admiring the swimmers she saw jumping in and out of the pool and drying themselves off. She was a little drunk, but some of them even looked familiar... had she made out with any of them during Swim Week? There had been so many swimmers and so little time...

She smiled a bit at the fond (hazy) memories and half-turned, waiting for her friends to catch up. Where were Harriet and the others? Lydia pouted a bit, turning back to survey the pool (or, more importantly, the bods of some fine pieces of Aquamancake). As she watched the water drip down the toned, muscular abs and asses of the mostly-naked men, glistening in the light, Lydia decided that it was the perfect time for a swim. After all, she was feeling a little hot, and a little dip to cool off would be... nice. She moved towards the door, flipping her hair, earrings and bracelets jangling.

Lydia strutted over to the door. She looked totally hot and mega sexy, and any guy in Vegas would be _lucky_ to get a piece of her, which was all they would get because the Lee-Dee-Yah did not do long-term or seconds. Unless those seconds were really good. She grabbed the door handle, tugging it open and moving to thrust herself into the room when she bumped into a rock-hard surface. Or, rather, a hard, damp set of bare abs. Lydia giggled, grabbing onto one of the guy's forearms, and then looked up into the somewhat startled eyes of George Wickham. His eyes were the color of wintergreen or the sparkling, clear aquamarine color of the Caribbean, and like sunny Mexican beaches, they beckoned to her. "Hi, George!"

Sometimes it was just nice to see a friendly face, no matter who it was. A kind of irrational part of her wanted to throw herself at George in one of her typical full-body-tackle-contact-hugs, but the tiny part of her brain that sounded like Lydia questioned the wisdom of hugging her sister's ex who'd skipped town and almost immediately started shacking up with other girls and squeezing the breath out of him just because she _kinda_ knew him. She kinda knew a lot of hot people, after all, but she def did not go around hugging all of them... or more. Not always, anyways.

George smiled at her, steadying her and moving the two of them off to the side and out of his buddies' line of sight. Lydia's smile fell just a fraction. He was probably embarrassed to be seen with someone as young and energetic as her too. George's smile was far too dazzling for her to stay on this train of thought long, however. "It's so nice to see you, Lydia," George said, squeezing her shoulder. Lydia smiled reflexively at the words, reminded of Jane. She looked down at his hand, wondering why her stomach felt a bit funny. He tilted his head to the side, giving her an appraising look that didn't make her entirely comfortable. It was almost like he saw right through her, and that made her want to shiver. "I didn't know you were in Vegas."

Lydia grinned back at him, shifting her weight. "Yep!" she chirped. "I am here to do New Years' right! By partying!" She let go of his arm, but George didn't release his hold on her upper arm. George raised his brows as if in question, silently entreating her to go on, and Lydia straightened, conscious of her audience. "Longbourn is totes Squaresville! Vegas is where all the fun people are, amirite?" she interjected loudly, gesturing around them animatedly. George's eyes narrowed a bit, but he kept smiling, and Lydia looked away. He'd seen more of the real Lydia than a lot of the friends she'd come here with.

George nodded once. "I'd definitely say so." Her grin widened a fraction, and she tried not to stare at the way droplets of water trailed down his abdominal muscles. He had a towel (and his shirt) thrown over one shoulder and another slung around his waist. "So, how are you? How's your... family?" he asked her cautiously, as if he were somewhat afraid of the answer. Lydia didn't miss the look of trepidation on his features, but she didn't see it for what it was.

She bounced on her heels a bit, sending her bracelets rattling again. "I'm _awesome,_ duh!" Lydia exclaimed, dragging out the word and smacking George lightly on the arm. George's easy smile fell a little; he was too practiced at lying not to see through her thin veneer to the brittleness that lay underneath. He saw her fractures stretching out like spiderwebs, almost reaching the surface. Lydia looked away, wobbling a little in her too-high heels. "Jane's in L.A. now," she began buoyantly, frowning a bit as she continued, "but I think you knew that already." George nodded, unable to take his eyes off of her. She had that same vibrancy as her sister, a different energy, perhaps, but it had a way of drawing you in.

Lydia, however, mistook the wider look in his eyes for something else. She tilted her head to the side, frowning, and took pity on him. She reached over to place a hand on his shoulder, overreaching just enough so that she teetered on her heels and would've fallen if not for George's hand on her arm, rebalancing her. George glanced down briefly at her hand, and Lydia felt herself flushing a little, feeling a bit self-conscious. She swallowed hard, hating how her throat felt a bit sticky. "But you want to know about Lizzie, don't you, George?" Lydia asked with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. George swallowed too, wondering just how much Lizzie had told her. Given the sly way Lydia was looking at him, probably not much.

She smiled bittersweetly; months apart, and he was _still_ fixated on her sister! Lizzie and he hadn't even been that serious, and she didn't even make an effort to see him when he was in town again... and he was still hung up on her? Why did everyone find her perfect, snarky, judgmental, holier-than-thou nerdy older sister so damn appealing? Why were they all so in love with her when Lizzie didn't even try? She attracted their attention and affection without doing anything at all!

"I think she misses you," she whispered, leaning in a little. She said it with just a hint of malice but scrunched her face up a bit like a child. After all, Lizzie wouldn't want him to know that she was pathetically mooning over him. Lydia's silver-lined eyes sparkled; how had he never noticed her eyes were so green until this moment? Maybe, he reflected, because he'd never taken the time to look. He'd been wrapped up in other things at the time... things like Lizzie. Maybe that had been a mistake.

He somehow doubted that she missed him, not Lizzie who had always closed her heart and any other part of her off to him. He'd made the mistake of thinking her smitten only to find out otherwise... not that, even then, she hadn't held a certain fascination for him in being quite so out-of-reach. George's eyes narrowed, and he just barely avoided a scoff. "I didn't exactly get that impression from our last meeting," he said diplomatically, shrugging a shoulder.

Lydia blinked, confused. She'd seen their last meeting... unless Lizzie hadn't told her. They hadn't exactly been speaking. "You saw Lizzie again?" she asked haltingly, her brow wrinkling a little. George raised his brows faintly. Lizzie had tweeted about their encounter but hadn't mentioned it to her sister? He nodded slowly. "She didn't mention that." Lydia bit her lip, trying not to feel hurt by this.

He knew all too well how to fake a confused expression, a sheepish what-have-I-done-wrong smile. "I was getting groceries. She probably forgot." He doesn't say that Lizzie had looked at him like she knew almost everything, her gaze cutting, her words harsh but sickly-sweet, perfectly crafted to make him pale. He now knows what it's like to feel the sharp edge of that tongue, to find out just how blunt she can be. She'd pushed him away and written him off, all but daring him to try regaining his former place in her life. See if you can, George, she'd all but sneered. She'd pushed him away, like his mere presence disgusted her. So he hadn't gone to her sister's party, hadn't reconnected... but here was Lydia Bennet in front of him and open, and there was something about it a little like fate. Or luck, maybe, and George had always believed in that, even if his good fortune was fleeting at best.

Lydia's lips turned downwards at the corners. How could Lizzie reject a man so beautiful, so... well, not quite perfect, but close enough? Why wasn't Lizzie ever _satisfied_ with the way things were? With things just being good enough? Was _anything_ even good enough for her? Certainly not her, or George, or Charlotte, or Ricky, and not even Snobby Paradigm of Arrogant Hipster Douchebag Perfection Darcy or Caroline Lee the Great Backstabber! No wonder her sister was destined to a life of being alone and miserable.

She patted George's shoulder sympathetically, her bangs falling into her eyes and shading them from his view. Lydia pursed her lips, her gaze turning a bit faraway. "Lizzie doesn't realize what she's got 'til it's gone, if you know what I mean," she explained, making a face, "My sister's kind of a loser like that." George's lips twitched, almost curving upwards into a smile. If he noticed that she punctuated the words with a bit more venom than usual, he didn't say anything about it. Lydia tilted her head further, studying him. He didn't exactly seem too broken up hearing it.

Lydia sighed, loosening her grip on him. "You're better off without her, you know," she said quietly, taking her hand off of him and leaning against the wall. Her hair fell into her face, and she didn't bother to push it back. Her eyes were hooded, her expression moody, everything about her somehow darker, edgier, more raw. And George liked it, liked it a lot. More than he should've. He raised his brows as if to ask why, and Lydia snorted and looked back up at him. "Lizzie fails at relationships. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing," Lydia informed him with a dismissive wave. She paused for the barest moment and let out a low chuckle before going on, "But you probably already knew that." She slanted her eyes at him, and, no, there was no mistaking that sexual undertone there.

Truthfully, he didn't much know and looked away uncomfortably. He hadn't gotten much further than a few tantalizingly hot and all-too-brief makeout sessions with Lizzie, not that they'd really gone anywhere. He'd been expecting her passion to explode or implode or something, and he'd sensed at times that it could've gone that way, but instead she held back. He found ultimately that she was reticent, not as trusting as he'd thought, and not quite so willing to give of herself. It had disappointed him only a little. But then again, he knew better than most just how deceiving appearances could be.

Lydia's razor sharp red smile turned bitter. She pushed her hips off of the wall, giving him a coy, slow onceover, her smile almost sharpening. Lydia swayed a little in her strappy, sparkly heels. It reminded him suddenly of the reality that Lizzie's little sister was a sexual being, not that he hadn't thought of it before based on some things he'd heard from other swimmers. But he'd never considered that until now. "But, you know," she began, placing an index finger to her lips, "there is _one_ thing Lizzie's real good at." Her eyes flashed viciously, and George found himself instinctively leaning in a little to listen, curious. Lydia leaned in, leaned up just a little, faking like she was going to close the distance between them and instead turning to whisper into his ear. "Driving people away," she murmured, so close he could almost feel the tip of her tongue on the shell of his ear. "Especially people who care about her."

He looked down, uncomfortable at the assertion. It had been a while since he'd really cared about him. George's expression softened as he moved away from her. She'd meant to say it harshly, but he heard something else underneath. He recognized it, the familiarity of leaving before you could be abandoned and cast aside, dismissed as something worthless. Like garbage. It struck him a bit closer to home than he would like to admit or remember. He licked his lips absently. "So what is your sister up to?" he said not quite as smoothly as he wished, changing the topic, "You never said."

She blinked, distracted, the moment gone. Lydia stepped back away from him, impressed at her own ability to avoid staring at his glistening abs. She'd been so close to him that she could smell the chlorine on his skin, mixed with the faint scents of salt and cheap cologne, but she'd been immune to that too. "Oh, Lizzie's going to shadow some lame company in San Fran," Lydia proclaimed airily. George's heart beat just a little bit faster. His expression turned a bit grimmer; it couldn't be...

Lydia frowned a little, trying to remember the name of the company. "I think it's called Memberley or something." Lydia thought about it a moment more, trying to imagine her sister at a company with such a ridiculous name. "Memberley," she repeated before bursting into loud, raucous cackling, "They probably make pornos!" The thought of straitlaced, traditional, boring Lizzie unwittingly interning at a company that made pornographic films was beyond hilarious. Oh, God, would they make her be a fluffer or something? George's heartbeat thudded so loudly that he was glad for Lydia's hyena-like laughter, glad that it covered up the sound.

He attempted to laugh along with her, trying not to think about what Lizzie seeing Darcy again meant. But he couldn't laugh, not really; it sounded hollow to his own ears. "I think you mean Pemberley," George said softly, "Pemberley Digital." That fateful name, he thought, trying and failing as always to cast the Darcys out of his mind. Lydia looked at him askance, wondering why all-fun George had suddenly gone kind of pale and serious-looking.

"Um, sure," she replied, giving him a weird look, "something like that." The more she thought about it, the more she figured that George was probably right about the company's name. She hadn't exactly been paying much attention to her nerdy, judgy older sister's videos as of late anyway. How could he know that, though? George's gaze was still faraway, and Lydia shifted away from him, letting his hand drop off of her arm. Maybe she'd been wrong; maybe he was still moping over Lizzie after all. "You haven't been watching Lizzie's videos recently, have you?" she asked, making a face.

She was a bit nervous asking him, inexplicably. Then again, seeing your worst enemy profess his love to your ex-girlfriend (even though she rejected him) and then watching her kind of warm to him enough to take his side and quote him more than once probably would've been hard for anyone. Especially if she was starting to believe him over you. No, she thought, shaking her head, it was probably best if she didn't tell George about Darcy.

George shook his head slowly, wondering if perhaps he should've been. Had he missed a lot when he was out of Lizzie's life? "Should I have?" he asked slowly, a bit too casually, trying to gauge her reaction. Lydia had definitely encouraged his relationship with Lizzie in the past, but she either didn't realize how much her sister's attitudes had shifted or shared less of her beliefs than he realized. Lydia shook her head hurriedly, like she was hiding something from him. He pursed his lips a bit, debating whether it was worth catching up to find out what had happened. After all, he probably would never see Lizzie Bennet again unless he was in town for Swim Week, right? And she wasn't interested anymore; she'd made that clear.

"You didn't miss anything important, trust me," Lydia informed him, all bravado. She flung her hands out dramatically, sending her bracelets clattering again. She rolled her eyes, cocking a hand on her hip. "She's just been sitting around at home doing nothing like a total loner weirdo. Or writing even lamer papers at the library with the dusty books and depressingness," she continued dismissively. She paused a moment or two too long before going on. "Aside from me, her vlogs have been, like, totes a drag since you left," Lydia said a bit hastily, tossing her hair.

George smiled. "I bet," he said warmly, agreeing with her. Lydia noticed, however, that his smile didn't exactly reach his eyes. The sinking sensation in her stomach informed her that he was probably still thinking about her blind and clueless older sister who _so_ did not deserve to have such a hot, awesome guy still obsessing over her. What was it about Lizzie?

Lydia shook her head, frowning at him. She pushed him in the chest distractedly. "Come on, George, you are _way_ too cool to be moping over my nerdy older sister," Lydia retorted, fixing him with a look. Almost immediately after making contact with his pectoral, she realized it was a mistake and tensed but didn't draw back her hand. His skin was so smooth and warm, the muscle just as firm under her hand as she'd always imagined—not that she had imagined it. He was _Lizzie's_, or he had been, even if she didn't want him anymore or whatever. She looked up to find George staring at her intently, his eyes a shade or two deeper turquoise than usual. She hadn't really realized she'd moved so much closer to him. Her breathing went a little bit shallower.

George didn't stop looking at her, and he didn't say anything either. He'd looked down at where she'd pushed his chest first before glancing up at her and focusing on her. He didn't move. Lydia had a sudden, disturbing realization that this must be how Lizzie felt, having Darcy stare at her all the time, only she'd never expected Darcy to want to do more than just look (glare, really), of course. George had the means to back up stares like that—he was not a sexless robot by any means, and the way he was looking at her made her a bit nervous.

He flexed underneath her hand, smiling slightly. She swallowed hard but didn't draw back. George leaned in towards her a little. She smelled sweet and a little musky, like forbidden fruit, like a mixture of hard candy and harder liquor. He enjoyed this little cat-and-mouse game they were playing, how she suddenly had him aware and wanting things he hadn't even known existed until now. He reached over to touch one of her dangly earrings, tugging on it playfully. She could almost feel his breath fanning across her face. Two of his fingers brushed across part of her neck, very nearly making her jump. He watched; he'd always liked seeing just how far he could push things until someone pushed back. "It never would've worked with me and Lizzie anyway," George confessed, drawing back from her just enough so Lydia felt like she could breathe easier. He reached for her hair almost hesitantly, tucking a few coppery strands behind her ear, his fingertips just barely touching her skin. Lydia's brow furrowed a bit in confusion.

"She was always too fixated on Darcy," he explained a moment later, all but spitting Darcy's name with the bite he'd always heard Lizzie saying it. He'd hated Darcy once, but he didn't quite now. Hate wasn't the word for it. He generally tried to avoid thinking of either Darcy when he could, which wasn't as often as he wished. But, God, Lizzie had been more fixated than he was, and that was why she'd been perfect for those few weeks he'd spent in Longbourn... but, truthfully, it had gotten to him a little bit. The girl you're with always talking about another guy around you, well, that was a bit weird and it got old pretty fast. As much as he loved having someone to bitch about Darcy with, as much as he loved the way she just ate it up with glee, the mixture of truth and lies he spun, talking about Darcy was generally a turn-off. Lydia snorted, thinking; you're telling me.

Her eyes flashed, darkening the way her sister's did at the mere sound of Darcy's name. But there was no ambiguity with Lydia, no underlying spark of attraction or question there... nothing but cold, dark hatred. She took her hand off of his chest, putting it back on her hips, and looked away. A dark, almost haunted look passed over her face. "Everything always comes back to Darcy, doesn't it? Darcy, Darcy, _**Darcy**_!" Lydia sniped, moving away from him and throwing her hands in the air. "Ugh, I'm so _sick_ of him! He's not even in our lives anymore and still manages to ruin everything! Newsflash, the world does **not** revolve around Doucheface Darcy!" Lydia snapped, ferocious in her rage, her bright brassy hair flying around her face. She looked like she might've hit someone, but no one was in range.

She stumbled a little bit in her animation, and George found himself almost reaching for her, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He even let out a low chuckle. But Lydia took a step back, stilling, closing her eyes, and exhaling deeply. Her breath maybe shuddered a bit more than it should've, and maybe she felt a little breathless and lightheaded and yeah, even _thinking_ of Darcy made her angry. Not the way Lizzie got angry, all tight and contained, her hate white-hot and burning. And oh-so-fixated, like, creepily so. No, in her own way, like tiny pinpricks flaring up underneath her skin converging into one and back again. Feeling the heat of George's eyes, she opened her eyes and met his gaze.

Lydia forced her shoulders to relax and straightened, shifting her hips so that she didn't lose her balance. George's eyes dropped down to take in the rest of her: the sparkly miniskirt, the pink and black crop tank-top, the bared legs and bared belly and bare arms. His grin widened at all the flesh on display, but he looked away after a few moments, out of some strange sense of respect. He couldn't really look away, though, not for long. She sparked and sparkled up close like this, like a firework. She burned like an out-of-control wildfire, hot and consuming everything in her path. And watching her like this, so close to self-destruct, teetering on the edge but pretending like everything was fine... was fascinating.

All too aware of his scrutiny, she fixed her hair almost frantically, flipping it over her shoulder. She really didn't care what Darcy thought about her after all, since he was a tool and a douche and a thousand other things besides and **wrong** (and, come on... "energetic" was _so_ not the worst thing anyone had ever said about her). Her eyes flickered with something like fire. "Not that I'm gonna ruin a totes amazeballs night by talking about that mouthbreathing creeper hipster asshat," she hurried to counter, reaching out and shaking George's arm, "Amirite?"

George actually burst out into laughter at that comment, real, genuine almost-hysterical laughter for a change. Laughter at something stupid, and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened, at least not as a grown-up, taking him so completely by surprise. She was a force of nature, this one. Lydia smiled hesitantly, not quite trusting it, and she stood up a bit prouder, holding her hand out for a high-five. When he stopped laughing, surprised to find himself a bit breathless and still smiling, he nodded. "Totally." He noticed her double-jointedness and wondered if it was just in her elbows for a moment before reaching over and high-fiving her. Lydia's smile widened.

At that moment, Lydia opened her mouth to say something, she didn't know what, but a troupe of her own giggling friends burst around the corner. "Ly-Di-Ya," they chorused obediently, all but running at her, grabbing her arms, some fighting for her attention, "there you are!" A few others shrewdly noted the smoking hot guy she'd been standing next to talking with when they'd showed up. Puzzlingly, she'd been standing a bit closer than she would for mere friendly conversation, even though Lydia didn't exactly have the firmest grasp of boundaries, but she wasn't flirting with him in her coy way or her unsubtle, boisterous way.

One of them, Nikki, pushed her way to the front. "Hi, and who might this handsome man be?" she asked, tossing her blonde hair in a way that bored George already. He appraised her silently; she was conventionally attractive but not super hot. She caked on the make-up and was wearing a blue dress that was a bit too big for her, hanging off of her in a way that wasn't wholly attractive. Unlike the naturally-slender Bennet sisters, there was something about her that just looked half-starved. He could probably get her in bed with a few well-placed compliments and minimal effort, but she seemed drained already and passionless, and he had a feeling she wasn't good in bed just from looking at her. He faked a smile anyway.

Lydia's eyes narrowed, and she broke away from the girls to stand in front of him. She shot him a warning look, and George almost smiled. Was this her being possessive or just her trying to rescue him? "This is George," Lydia informed her tightly, her gaze cutting back to him, flicking from his shirt to his chest pointedly. He understood what she meant and decided to ignore her. Instead of putting his shirt on, he reached down and casually undid his towel. He was glad he'd worn trunks for a change, glad they clung without being so skintight that it drew unwanted attention to him.

Some of the other girls gaped at him, but Lydia merely suppressed a sigh and crossed an arm over her chest irritably. George met her gaze, mildly amused at how put-out she looked that he was now the center of attention. "He's a..." She looked up at him with a questioning expression, but he gave nothing back, so Lydia was forced to continue, "_friend_ of Lizzie's." George's lips tightened; he barely noticed how the other girls looked a little less interested in him after hearing that. Seeking for once to draw the attention off of herself, considering some of the glares other girls were shooting at her (Lydia hadn't really noticed, but George had barely taken his eyes off of her), Lydia cleared her throat and put on her brightest smile. "Anyway, I'm just gonna say goodbye to him and then we can get the rest of this awesome party train rolling, kay-kay?"

George raised his brows, and a beaming Lydia waved the other girls off, assuring them that she would meet them in a minute or two. Yeah, maybe it would've been polite to chat with him some more or to make more of an effort to introduce her friends to George, but, like, he'd dated her sister, and she didn't want to do that. Wingmanning her sister's ex was a whole new level of skeezy. The other girls all left, most of them unwillingly, hiding rather unsubtly in the corridor ahead, clearly intending to eavesdrop on her conversation. Lydia rolled her eyes; and Lizzie thought _she_ was immature?

He noticed her smile wasn't quite genuine but knew better than to call out a fellow liar on it. And she was good, so good that she was even lying to herself! He gave her a knowing look. "Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep me all to yourself," he remarked with a shrug, waggling his eyebrows. He was still eying her in that way that made her shift uncomfortably. If he'd been wearing jeans, he would've put his fingers in his belt loops, but as it was, he merely smoothed over the damp fabric of his swim trunks distractedly.

Lydia rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Oh, please, George." She flicked her hair, crossing the other arm over her chest. George's lips curved upwards. "I was just saving you from them," she replied, jerking her head towards the direction her girlfriend had left in. They both looked down the hall and could hear the giggling echo. Lydia pursed her lips, giving him a look of her own. "They would've eaten you alive, trust me," Lydia informed him bluntly. She polished her nails on his shirt, standing there as if she was expecting praise and thanks for shooing away her friends.

The attitude amused him, and Lydia was full of that. He took a step towards her, scratching just below his bellybutton idly. He took some pride in the way Lydia's gaze dropped to his hand and lingered on his stomach and below, appraising, before she swallowed and looked away, blushing. He'd always reveled in the female attention, how easily it came and how easily he could capture it. He stood a little taller, hips jutting out, smiled a bit brighter. "Who says I wouldn't enjoy that?" he drawled, leaning in just a bit closer and dropping his voice an octave. He licked his lips in a positively wicked way.

She looked away from George's dark aquamarine stare. A droplet of water fell from some part of George onto her skin. Then she looked at him again, the intimacy of the closeness to him nearly overwhelmed her. She took a breath and looked back up at him, crossing her arms a bit tighter. George's gaze dropped to her breasts, admiring the way her position pushed them up and together even more. She, meanwhile, gave him an appraising look, trying not to forget that she was faking some of this bravado. "You might," she acceded, tilting her head. She paused before leaning in a bit herself and continuing, shaking her head, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "But not the way they do it." Then she drew away, her expression somewhat sarcastic and just a bit poisonous.

His eyes widened. Was she flirting with him? He stared at her, not quite sure what to make of her. He licked his lips again, opening his mouth and beginning to make the reflexive flirtatious remark that bubbled up inside of him. But then he remembered who he was talking to—Lydia, who was staring up at him expectantly with arms crossed, Lydia who probably didn't know what she wanted—and he stopped. She blinked, long eyelashes fluttering. Then George held open his arms, wiggling his fingers and motioning for her to come to him.

Lydia bit her lip, hesitating a moment before stepping into his arms somewhat reluctantly. George's hands almost immediately went down around her back, one sliding over her spine, across the lower curve of her back. The other hand rested on the middle of her back, one or two fingers edging up under the fabric. As usual, he pulled her in close, pressing his body against hers. He enjoyed the softness of her, the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. Lydia started a bit, not expecting to be so close to him. His skin was cool and still damp from the pool, and she could feel the latent strength in his arms as he held onto her. At another time she might've wondered if he could lift or bench-press her (probably, on both counts), but at that moment she could do nothing more than just stand there.

Lydia unwound her arms and wrapped one around his shoulders lightly. She didn't want to get too close or too comfortable. She felt her face heating up, felt his skin sliding against hers where their arms and bare abdomens touched. She tried not to think too hard about how that felt or how his skin was just the littlest bit slick. Or how it felt somehow more intimate and sensual, just _hugging_ George, than anything she'd done with another guy since she'd gotten here. George pulled back a fraction, smiling brightly. "It's always awesome running into you, Lydia." He meant it.

Lydia felt a jumpy, mostly unfamiliar feeling in her at these words. It wasn't entirely unlike nausea, the turning feeling in her stomach. George turned his head to kiss her on the cheek affectionately. She turned a little, turned her head away, avoiding his eyes, so it wound up a bit closer to her mouth than he'd intended. Their eyes met for just a moment, a breathless silence, as he pulled away. A part of him wished he'd just let his lips glide across her skin all the way to those cherry lips, to see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Maybe I'll run into you later," he murmured, rubbing her back idly. There was a hint of question in his tone, maybe a hint of promise too, but not in a way that conveyed he was expecting to run into her or intended to do so. He said it in a way that intimated running into her again would be pleasant. He moved his hand over the dip of her spine again and again, just slow enough to make Lydia tense to hold back a shiver. George wondered if she'd noticed that she'd moved just a little bit closer to him.

Lydia looked down at how low his arms were around her waist and then up at her own hands. They were now far apart enough that it almost looked like they were slow-dancing. She barely noticed his shirtlessness, too concerned about other things. George was completely relaxed, as always, while Lydia felt all wound up extra tight all of a sudden. She had a new respect for her sister; if _she_ felt like she was coming out of her skin, she could only imagine how Lizzie felt when she and George were one-on-one. She tried to convince herself rather unsuccessfully that she wasn't even a little bit jealous of her older sister, for knowing this first.

She pulled away from George gently, smiling slightly as she broke the embrace. "You bet, G," she replied smoothly, making finger guns and shooting them at him. She silently impressed at how steady her voice sounded. Once on her own, she wobbled a bit in her heels, but she stayed far enough away that George would have to stretch to reach her if she was stumbling. She smirked, thrusting her shoulders forward and making one of those poses he'd seen her do on some of Lizzie's vlogs. "You know the Lee-Dee-Yah is where the party's at," she exclaimed, snapping her fingers and twisting in that familiar way, her hair swinging.

Then she winked at him, waving, before turning on her heel. "Bye, Lydia!" George called after her, raising his hand in a kind of wave. She paused a step but said nothing. George vaguely smiled and headed back into the pool to his buddies' catcalls. Lydia continued walking down the hallway towards her friends and the oblivion that awaited her. She only relaxed when she heard the door shut behind him. Then she let out all of her breath in a wooshing sound, her shoulders slumping. God, she needed a drink.

When she greeted her friends in the hallway, she ignored all of their inquiries about George and drank enough to (she thought) forget about him entirely. But later on, when she was back in the room she shared with Harriet, lying flat on her back on her bed with a strange blond man (with a vague resemblance) all over her, she found that he hadn't really left her mind at all.

- Loren ;*


End file.
